This is the back story I wrote for my character on Star Trek Online. Thought I would take a moment to share it
Episode 1 : A Pirate’s Life.
Flint, captain of his vessel, stares at the viewscreen, the reflections of the images trapped their reflected in his deep, Saurian eyes. He speaks into a hand held comm unit, “I want more units to section 3, I think they may be onto us.” Commander Jenkinson raises an eyebrow, looking back from his control console with confusion darkening her glance.
“Captain? I don’t understand the extra precaution?” Flint continues to scroll through the numeric data showing the vessels and their paths. He deigns not to answer as he gives a few last minute burst instructions, guiding his force into an optimal pattern to grab the cargo freighters trapped in their complex web.
“Eyes on the prize, Jenkinson. They’ve made 7 trips while I have been watching them, and they’ve been by the book on all of their vectors, but on trip 8 their is a change in their flight paths and patterns. Change does not spontaneously occur. They were tipped off, they saw something suspicious, someone got paranod in their command staff. Personally, I don’t care what the impetus for the change was, change is bad for business for us, and I want all vectors and variables accounted for on this operation.” Flint types a few numbers on his pad, and throws it to his tactical station, “Run these permutations, if they make it to warp, I want men on site to put them down when they get out to revector.”
The gruff man at the tactical station catches the pad out of the air with a swift motion, and grunts, “Aye sir.”
Flint moves his hands over a keyboard he draws up from the side of his chair, and frowns, “No comm chatter….” He glowers back at his conn station, “This can’t be right, there is always comm chatter in this section, check your bands again.” The tech at the controls rolls his shoulders, and goes back to the beginning to check all channels and frequencies.
The Tactical officer has a sharp intake of breath, “SIR, LOOK!” Flint rises from his chair in stark disbelief as a Federation armada comes out of warp on all vectors, firing as they fly inward on the locations of his forces. Flint takes a step towards the view screen, his eyes widened in horror as he watches the cargo freighters errupt with perregrine fighters that swarm his carefully laid plans.
Flint stands before his tactical screen, blinking as Jenkinson begins to maneuver the ship, trying to get them to safety. Energy fire swarms all of the ships in the vicininty, and crippling blows shatter sub system after sub system on his vessel, paralyzing its ability to run. Flint shakes himself from his disbelief, and moves to the tactical console, looking at readings and shaking his head in disbelief.
“Our intel was wrong, dead wrong. The task force wasn’t out of system on maneuvers, we’ve been played!” Flint growls as he pounds on the console, trying to find functioning sub systems. Blaring fleet com sat traffic floods the bridge, desperate calls and cries for instruction, those fleeing, and the Star Fleet task force demanding an immediate and unconditional surrender.
Flint calls to his conn officer, “To all forces, immediate retreat to theta base, begin dissolution of pirate band pending my return. Open sealed instructions for Order 94GF3, decript code 7. I’ll catch all of you on the flip side, its been a pleasure boys and girls. Once again, Order 94GF3, decript code is 7.” Flint shakes his head as he heavily sits in his chair, “My ship is gone, I’ll try and break a hole for you all to get out at Vector 3, Mark 0 – 0 – 2.” Pieces of the bridge blow out, and various crew are thrown from one side to the other under the onslaught of Federation concentrated weapons fire.
All over the fleet, crew are running from secure safes where stacks of sealed orders are held, and opening them to decript accordingly. As one they move along the vector that his monstrous flagship opens for them, burning a smoldering tunnel through the Federation line. One by one they wink out, reading their instructions. By the time the smoke begins to clear, and sense can be made of the chaos, the vast majority of his band has escaped and eluded capture. His Flagship deploys emergency escape vessels as its various over-powered systems begin to overload, and its destruction becomes imminent.
&&&&
Admiral Quinn scowls deeply at the report on his desk, “Damned sloppy…” He shakes his head, “We lost 8 vessels to dry dock in this operation, and we only managed to grab 80 viable prisoners, and none of their ships were taken intact??” The Captain rigidly standing at attention on the other side of his desk nods, and clears her throat.
“Yes sir, I’m afraid that is the case. However, we did manage to capture the pirate band's leader.” She smiles hopefully, and her smile swiftly turns down on its corners to a frown.
Admiral Quinn frowns deeply, “Captain Franjulie, are you aware of a transmission he sent out prior to his capture?” Captain Franjulie nods slowly, not comprehending his apparent anger. Admiral Quinn continues, “His band has gone to ground, fragmenting into cells which carried off all viable equipment from 6 pirate bases, four of which were known. We have set back our intelligence networks years in their efforts to infiltrate his band and contacts. Forgive me, if I am unhappy with how this shook out on your watch.” He sets his hand to his forehead, trying to reign in his temper.
“My apologies, Captain, this has not been a pleasant experience for me, on my end, either. I have Federation oversight asking for an explanation as to the cost of this project in relation to its final yield for results. And the results are just not going to balance out this equation, not one bit.” Admiral Quinn looks at the stacks and stacks of data files, shaking his head.
“This Bilovash, Franz Frederich Bilovash, where was he trained?” Captain Franjulie blinks, confused.
“Sir? You mean the pirate band leader, Flint?” Admiral Quinn nods, looking up and waiting. “As you well know sir, I have taken a personal interest in this pirate. He was trained on Sauria, in their special tactical command schools. He resigned under unusual circumstances, he, uhm, killed pirates, sir.”
Admiral Quinn nods, “This I know Captain, but you have been intimately involved with this project for some time now, and I was hoping to get your personal input on this being.”
Captain Franjulie slowly nods, “Alright, uhm, if I have the right of this, from a combination of the files and questions posed to his known associates and rumors. I would say he is seriously wasted talent. His parents were killed in a drug cartel war when he was very young, and he found himself passed through the system after they found him some 2 years after his parents were slain and he had survived on the street.” The Captain pauses to collect her thoughts, “He grew up, consuming every book and training he could, and then joined the armed forces. He had a meteoric rise to command, and at every opportunity has tried to bring his forces into conflict with those who traffic in slaves and or drugs. His violent approaches left several members of the Saurian Commando's division … squeamish and uneasy.”
Admiral Quinn nods slowly, “I heard of some of that, something about scarification on those he releases?”
Captain Fruanjulie nods, “Yes sir, what he referred to as, and I quote, ‘an active, consistent, and constant reminder to offenders and offendees of the punishment for repeat offences.’ His M.O. was to give them an opportunity to give up their ‘game’ and if he caught them at the same act again, he would scar them in a way that med tech cannot heal. He decorated his face with the same technology.”
Captain Franjulie thinks hard, pursing her lips, and then continues, “He, ah, left the armed services when he was brought up on charges for unnecessarily rough handling of prisoners. Slavers from the Orion Syndicate attempted to surrender to a local colony’s authorities rather than even face Flint’s battle group. Flint took it upon himself to insist that the local constabulary hand him over immediately for processing. High Saurian command was displeased with his side-stepping the chain of custody, especially since he executed 13 of them, and scarred another 8 out of that group. His methods are draconian, but under his watch there was a considerable drop in crime in that area.”
Admiral Quinn nods, and sighs, “I am in a rough position, this Flint character has made very few friends in that sector of space. His arms dealing efforts were mostly arming local populaces against Klingon aggression. Very infrequent were his strikes against the Federation. The Klingons are clamoring for his blood, they want us to extradite him.” The Admiral leans back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and then sitting up a bit straighter. He reaches across the table and grasps his glass of water, and drinks slowly, thinking. “I have half a mind to hand him over, but his initiative, and his training would be a terrible asset to waste.”
“Sir?”
Admiral Quinn, “I have been toying with a new initiative to give criminals a second chance, Captain. A program to replace desperately needed Command Staff. The war is pulling our resources thin, Captain, and I feel that Flint would be a good candidate to put through Star Fleet Academy, and see what he is capable of, what are your thoughts on the matter?”
“….” Captain Franjulie stands at ease, shakes her head, and then sits down. “Sir?” She blinks, clears her throat, looks around the room for a moment, and then leans forward to rest her head in her hand for a moment. “May I speak candidly, sir?”
Admiral Quinn, both eyebrows raised, nods, “You most certainly may, I need input on this case.”
“No, absolutely not, under no circumstances can you let this man loose on the Galaxy again. Sir. Do you realize what it took to put him down? Do you realize what resources it took to just slow down his operation? How many thousands of man hours went into just getting a little misinformation into his organization? His still active, fiercely loyal, CRIMINAL organization?” She runs a hand through her hair and takes a shaky breath. “He’s a monster, sir, and I don’t think we are capable of controlling him.”
Admiral Quinn nods, and looks several decades older as he intones, “The war is not going well, Captain. We need more answers than we have, we need more assets than we can get. We are losing Captains faster than we can train them. We are losing valuable, irreplaceable personnel out there every day. With the Klingons, the Borg, the Breen, the Udine, and all other takers that are circling the bloodied waters of the Alpha Quadrant, I am in need of answers, Captain. I need solutions, but all I seem to get are more problems.”
The Admiral continues, raising a hand to silence the immediate reaction from Captain Franjulie as she stands up angrily, “Listen, Captain. These are hard times we are in, and I need more trained personnel than I have. I've looked over his career statistics, and I ask you, was he anything other than an exemplary officer who followed his orders to the letter, sometimes too much so?”
Captain Franjulie blinks, shakes her head, “He scars people in a way that can not be repaired with modern medicine. He routinely executes criminals in defiance of standard processing methods for the criminal code. Stepping beyond his mandate doesn't begin to cover what he does.”
Admiral Quinn nods, “I appreciate your concerns, Captain, and I have entered them in my log. I am preparing a board of inquiry into this subject, I will be a primary member of it. We are weighing and measuring the gain we may get from handing him and his forces over to Klingon Justice. Or giving those who are willing a second chance by enrolling them in our experimental program in Star Fleet. I’ll be interviewing him personally after you leave.”
Captain Franjulie sighs heavily, and nods, “Alright. Thank you for your time, sir.” The Captain turns on her heel, and strides out of the office, shaking her head in wonderment. The Admiral’s words ringing in her head that the War is not going well. As she steps out of the office, she sees several security officers escorting Flint between them. His arms,waist, and legs shackled by the crackling field of a maximum security harness. “Dark times we are in… Dark times…”
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
(as a side note, I wrote this out, over the course of an hour or so, a few days ago, and the site had timed out, when it had me re-log in, the contents had been lost. So I am re-writing that today, x_X ouch. Have a good one, all.)
Episode 2 : The Deal
Flint sits in the chair across from the Admiral, time and space sharing no cohesive thing between one another for him. The Static Field generators buried into the core of his being, or so it feels, from the energy harness he is wearing, has become more and more persistent in its claiming his attention in recent minutes. He spent the remainder of his trip here drugged and wearing this harness, security risk and all of that. Flints eyes roll back in his head as he moves about ever so slightly in the chair, watching the Admiral as he looks over data pads and logged entries. How long has he been reading those things, and why hasn't he noticed me yet? Flint’s mind is a fuzzy, ragged edge, cleaving through the miasma of his pain to try and understand where he is and why he is there.
The drugs, Flint squints his eyes, trying to focus on the here and now. Failure. Flint’s body is taut, overly taut, he focuses on that, I am in a harness, I recognize the harness. This is what they developed in the Dominion War to hold Changelings, okay, why am I wearing it … Think Flint, Think! Flint shakes his head from side to side, clearing away some more of the cobwebs cluttering his mind.
This is Admiral Quinn, he runs … Federation Star base … He runs Earth Space Dock, that’s right. I am … Flint looks out the window and sees the fleet-yard beyond, and the spinning blue and whites of Earth. I am in Sol System, there’s something. A thin sheen of sweat sticks to Flint’s features, and mats his clothes to his body. Flint glances down, realizing he is wearing a standard issue Federation body suit, and not his tailor-made ensemble lined with methods of fighting and escape.
Escape? That strikes a cord that resonates with my current situation. Flint moves his eyes from the window to the Admiral, concentrating, trying through sheer force of will to draw the past forward and to understand what is going on. Why am I not on a prison transport outbound to the Klingons? Flint takes a deep breath, envying the Vulcans some of their focus for a moment, and steadies himself. Start from the beginning, I was captured…. There was a fire .....
&&&&
Klaxons and alarms sound throughout Flint’s Command Ship, a retrofitted luxury liner. Its shear size is major advantage in a major engagement. It’s stripped out cargo holds made convenient methods for hauling drone ships and storing valuables for long hauls between returns to safe havens and his various bases. Flint runs top speed down the hall, scrambling at a hatch to cut close emergency bulkheads in his passing, he looks back nervously as the swirling plasma fire continues to consume the vessel in his wake.
The plasma coils this way and that consuming air in the gravity free environment created by the intense, omnidirectional fire from the Star Fleet Armada sent to take down his band. He pulls the lever again, and still the bulkhead only marginally moves. Flint snarls at his lack of trained professional craftsman when he converted this hulk into his headquarters. He runs out through the still open arch to another set of hallways, cursing fluidly in 8 languages as the fire overwhelms the place he had occupied moments before. The plasma licks off in random prominences, consuming chunks of wall, flooring, and ceiling alike.
Flint calls coarsely into his wrist comm unit, “Alexa, are you still in tertiary fire control?” The static that answers does not bode well as Flint runs up to an LCARS display on the wall, and recoils his burning fingers from initial contact with the scorching hot surface. “GAH!” He waves his hand in the air for a moment, looking at the varying speeds of sluggishness and fast catch up on the LCARS, “you are so ready to blow …”
Flint grabs a length of his scorched overcoat, and wraps it around his hand to swiftly punch in a broad series of instructions. All around him he hears the shunting and closing of emergency doors after the over-rides have kicked them into action. “Come on … come on, hold together and give me a seal!” An outline of the blazing red area on the wire-frame of his ship continues to pulse with a dotted white wire-frame as the emergency systems try and seal off the healthy sections of the ship from the raging fires around him on dozens of decks. Finally, the dotted line becomes solid and he slams the console to vent the sealed off sections to space.
Outside the ship, from dozens of suddenly open emergency locks, vents of plasma are blown out into space, some going out a full kilometer before beginning to dissipate to the draining, inevitable cold of space. Flint leans against the wall and slides down till he is on the floor, breathing hard from his dead run for the past 8 decks. He raggedly takes in air as he watches the wire frame’s blaring red heat warnings begin to cool, and scowls as he watches several yellow and blue blinking lights on the monitor.
Flint raises his wrist to his face, and calls out, “Anyone left, any friendlies that didn't make it to escape craft?” A warbling trill of static fills the air for a time, and is finally picked up by a scared sounding young man’s voice, “ssss — sir?! Didn't you get off with the last wave of escape pods? The Victorious Charge was scooping them up on its way out of system in hopes of grabbing you.”
Flint scowls darkly, “My ride got canceled, a couple of photon torpedoes took out the lifeboats on that side, so I gave up my seat to the others gathered there. Where are you … (Ensign, first class, picked him up at Proxima VII... trying to remember his name, ah) Charleston?”
A pause counterpointed by more static, “I’m on deck 17, me and a few others got cut off on our way to the cargo bay, and when we finally made our way around, the ships were all gone or burned up.” Flint winces, looking at the yellow and blue points on the map.
“Charleston, I am going to give you an instruction now, and I want you to listen very carefully.” Flint sits up a bit more, and takes a breath before continuing, “You are surrounded by Federation Boarding parties, I can see no method of escape for you that doesn't end in a hail of phaser fire. I am ordering you to surrender when you encounter the first Federation patrol, its your only way off of the ship. Its our only way off of the ship.”
“Sir?? What are you talking about, there are the hangar bays on the other side of the ship, and 2 more banks of escape pods, and the Lifeboats. What about the Captain's Yaught?”
Flint sighs, and replies, “All gone. Every option, and every angle, I already tried to work it out. So we have to go with surrender to get off of the ship, there will be time to try and get free later, before they hand us off to the Klingons. For the time being, they are not bombing our ship out of existence, but if we kill enough of their personnel, they’ll pull them out, and that is exactly what they will do, from a safe distance, until there is nothing left of us but twisted, floating chunks of metal to mark a futile last stand.”
There is a long pause, and no answer for some time, Flint inquires, “Charleston?” Flint waits, looking up at the now blank LCARs display, a pop and a hiss from the cooling circuits behind the wall mark the end of its usefulness to anyone. Flint slowly gets to his feet, scowling at his burned clothing, and areas of exposed skin. Thanking his lucky stars he’s a Saurian, he moves through an eastern moving passage, towards the nearest patrol. As he travels, there is a crackle of extra static on his comm unit, and a reply finally comes forward.
“We would follow you into Hell, sir, I just never thought we’d go down like this, is all. Surrendering … it just doesn't seem right, you know, Captain?”
Flint smiles, and calls back on his comm link, “Yes, well, we were outplayed, and I can only imagine the costs incurred to dupe my intelligence people. We are betrayed, we are broken, but we are not defeated where it counts.” Flint rounds a corner, and finds a multitude of high intensity, dazzling under-slung lights on phaser pulse rifles aimed into his eyes, and a chorus of voices works to drown each other out.
“Get down on the ground! Don’t move! Freeze!” They all vie for supremacy, so Flint smiles as he lowers himself to his knees, raising his hands above his head slowly, and crossing his fingers behind his hairless head. The Boarding party moves in on him fast, searching him for weapons. He watches as they take the 14 or so odd weapons off of him, handing them all back to a man with a satchel loaded with confiscated gear. He watches from the corner of his eye as more of the Marines are herding other members of his band down a secured hallway.
Flint is moved, transported, shuttled, and then moved again through a throng of duty officers thrust into the rough job of sorting out a messy operation. Flint’s peripheral vision, as a Saurian, is impeccable, and so in passing he learned that they had 80 to 90 of his men. They didn't even need to run his prints through the system, his distinctive scar patterns from forehead down to chin are identification enough, he had made his face famous.
As they are trying to secure enough brig space for so many people, Flint finds himself in a room, occupied by a great many of his cohorts, and he smiles at them. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention.” The cohabiting prisoners raise eyebrows, and look to him. Flint points to his face, “Watch me, very carefully, and be prepared to act.” Several of his crew stand to their feet, smiles on their faces. Flint reaches down to his boot, and draws out a pin sized object, a hidden transmitter. He smiles as he bends the pin, exposing the bio-metric unit within, and spits on it, activating the tiny once-off charge. It sends a signal, coursing out over a specific set of frequencies that act as a combination lock for a proper receiving unit.
Deep in the secure armory of the Star ship John Baptiste, where satchels of captured illegal weapons, both on crew and found throughout Flint’s captured vessel, a variety of them prime and begin to overload. Flint stands immediately next to the security field, waiting as the explosions mount and detonate, causing a shudder through the deck plates. The explosions begin to immediately concern and distract the guards still processing more prisoners in the hallway. There are flickers and surges of power, and Flint glides into the shocking embrace of the security field as the power surges cause it to become semi-permeable.
Flint twitches and burns in the field, and piece by piece, his arm, shoulder, and head force their way out of the field. He looks to the side of the shield unit control panel. As Flint jerks and shakes his fist smashes the control console, and he uses his head to smash the projector unit on his way to the ground. He lies there, breathing hard as his forces erupt from the cell, subduing the guards, and liberating more members of his band.
Flint gasps for a second, and sits up, shaking his head, “Ouch.” He gets up, swatting a few patches on his shirt that showed orange embers sparking to life. He heads towards the commotion in the center of the room, and kicks over a chair to stand head and shoulders above the rest of the ground on its back. “Alright, put them into the holding cells, knock out all comm gear, and make it fast, we have a shuttle to catch.”
One of the staffers, in disbelief, sputters, “You are insane! None of our transports will recognize any of you pirates! You have no where to go!” Flint gives him a happy wave as his men put the remaining crew into the holding cells.
Flint announces, “Low level stun only, or we’ll trigger every alarm in the fleet. Miggs, I know your not the best at engineering, but see if you can do something with their fire suppression systems. Something that will happen in about 40 minutes.”
The crewman nods, and taps in a variety of keys on the nearest com station, chuckling, “Looks like the last user forgot to log out.” As a surging unit they leave the brig, and they pour through the vessel, arriving at the cargo hold with a wake of stunned crew behind them, unconscious on the floor. Flint yells into the cargo bay for attention, but is ignored. He growls indignantly as various groups continue inane chatter or continue about their work.
Flint hops onto a large box of supplies, and stands high, he puts both fingers to his lips, and sets out a piercing whistle that stops all people in their tracks, and look at the strange Saurian waving his arms at them. He bellows out over the cavernous expanse of the cargo hold, “Attention! Leave the cargo bay now, while you still can under your own power. This will be your first, last, and I do mean final warning to that effect.” He stares coolly at the room as a slow realization dawns on all of them that his pirate band is spreading out into the room, and none of the crew here are armed.
Flint sighs, and points at a man standing pretty far in the middle of the cavernous chamber, and a phaser on stun spins him around clear off of his feet. That act triggers a massive and decisive exodus from the premises. Flint points to the control room, and a set of his men set to climbing clear up the shear wall, and menacing the crew from their comm stations as they were trying to report what was happening.
Flint smiles as the fire suppression system kicks in, right on time, and two decks up and two decks down are being drenched in fire suppression foam and every alarm in the ships databank is being triggered as an emergency drill. As the last of the crew are pushed and shoved out the door, the massive doors to the Cargo bay are secured, and they move the directional control of the tractor beam used to move the shuttles from berth to berth is turned on the door, and it is Jerry-rigged to set the door to going no where.
Flint and his men begin tearing apart a few shuttles, and dragging spare components forward to create a make-shift shuttle pod of sufficient size to move his forces. His men secure manual overrides to control the force field on the airlocks and main doors. His men plug power cells into every emergency socket they can find, tearing apart every scrap of machinery they don’t need to make sure that they don’t have their power interrupted. Flint supervises it all as they secure their stepping stones to freedom. Flint smiles and nods to Miggs, “You have those make-shift scramblers up?”
Miggs nods, a lopsided grin and a loose strand of hair obscuring some of his face, “Got it Captain, the moment a transporter tries to lock on, these baby’s knock that lock out of the park. But they are crude, so we won’t be able to stop ‘em from coming in.” Flint nods and continues preparations as he calculates how much time the system errors will buy them.
The Captain of the vessel calls down, and demands an immediate surrender, after they sort out their other problems above and below. “This is Captain Rittenhouse, you are in violation of every conceivable article of conduct for prisoners of war.”
Flint smiles, and uses the wall unit to reply innocently, “Are we at war, Captain?” The captain splutters in absolute indignation. Flint shakes his head, “Sorry, Captain, didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. Me and my men are going to finish up as soon as possible, and we’ll be out of your hair. We have been careful not to harm any of your crew unnecessarily, and we do appreciate your civil mien towards us. I bare you no ill will, I simply wish to go home.”
Captain Rittenhouse regains his composure, “You want to go home? That is not an option, you are criminals, and you tendered your surrender!”
Flint raises an eyebrow, “Are you really going to quibble about a Ruse of War, when your own side tricked me into attacking a baited trap? Let me make this plain to you, Captain; after we are processed, as civilly as you please, we will be set before assorted Federation Government People. We will be looked over, and most of my men, myself included, will be found to have outstanding ‘warrants’ in a variety of places. The Klingon Empire being number one for most of us, since its where we operate from mostly. Since the Federation policy is to be as generous as possible in terms of criminal extradition, I know where all of this polite conversation ends.”
Flint stares out over his men, and their looks show him their unending support, “The civility you engender is a beautiful thing, Captain, and I applaud you for it. But at the end of that line, me and my men are going to be cut from the toes up with weapons you can scarcely imagine. We could be fed to a pit of starving targs over the course of an entire day, I’ve seen them do that. But most of my men would be shipped to Uru Pentha, the Alien’s Graveyard, for a ‘life’ sentence. And believe me, Captain, life is short and cheap in that blasted, frozen, hell hole.”
In the ensuing silence that follows, Flint watches his mens’ desperate scramble to continue building their escape vehicle. Flint frowns as he looks out at the star lines, and watches as they shift back to points of distant light. Flint shouts out, “Prepare to repel boarders!”
Flint mashes the comm panel on the counter, “Captain, before you do anything, I want it clear I have taken no hostages, and I do not want to do so!” Flint rolls his head back and sighs exasperatedly as he can hear the transporters whine as they begin to try and pluck his men from their very posts. A short time later, a massive force of Federation Marines transport into the room at various points, and are immediately set upon on all sides.
In short order, Flint’s forces have prevailed, and are putting on better equipment and hefting better weapons. Flint shakes his head, disgruntled, one of his men comes to him, salutes, and announces, “We have 28 prisoners, sir.” Flint nods, waving dismissively as he settles down despondently. Miggs approaches, concern creasing his features.
“What’s the matter sir, we’re winning, aren’t we?” Flint smiles sadly at Miggs, and shakes his head no.
“Not enough time, Miggs, not enough time. We now have hostages, by Federation code of conduct, we are then irrevocably termed terrorists. They do not negotiate with terrorists, and they treat them with a heavier hand than standard ne’er-do-wells such as we truly are.”
“What?” Miggs has a blank expression, confusion evident.
“Don’t worry Miggs, it’ll be alright, I’m just a handful of Stratagema moves ahead is all. But from where we are now, we don’t have enough time to finish the shuttle before the Feds try something over the top, and force my hand.”
Miggs looks like he is trying to think very hard, “I’m not following, they can’t uproot us from here, we’re dug in too well, like you trained us.”
Flint smiles, standing up and tousling Miggs hair, “Yes, but this ship is battle, not guerrilla warfare on a planet, the rules are different, and now that we are out of warp, a multitude of options are now available to Rittenhouse that could force me to either utilize the hostages, and lose. Or to surrender, and lose this round of the game. Don’t worry, you’ll see all too soon.”
The comm line opens, the Captain's Voice stabs into the vast openness of the cargo bay, “Flint, surrender now.”
Flint sighs, looking at the locked down door where the gravity lift is leveraging it shut. “Not at this time, Captain.”
Captain Rittenhouse pauses, and the bridge control on the doors to the shuttle bay begin to part, the shields that Flints crew control maintain their air supply, but the lack of controls over the doors is disturbing, to say the least. Several of Flint's men begin to back way from the suddenly open blackness leading out into the void beyond. The emptiness beyond yawns massively. Flint squints, staring out into the stars beyond, and sees one of those stars maneuvering closer, fast.
The star resolves into one of the attack ships from the Flotilla, an Escort vessel, weapons primed and ready to fire directly into the cargo bay. Flint shakes his head, and taps the console. The Captains voice, icy in its perfect inflection, announces, “In 3 minutes, the Resolute there will open fire into that cargo bay, and it will not cease firing until I give the order. Do I make myself clear, Flint?”
Flint shakes his head, smiling sadly, “Well played Captain, you have our surrender. We’ll release the marines we have in our custody, and open the door.”
In short order, everyone of his men is rounded up, and escorted to parts unknown. Flint frowns as he finds himself locked in the kitchen area, in one of the large coolers one would store food stuffs in. He is brought out, and finds he will have a pair of shadows from that point forward. Trained, but unarmed marines to follow his every movement. They send him to another ship, ironically the Resolute, Flint notices this detail in transit past its registry.
His captors clasp his hands behind his back, and slip on tight, metal binders. As Flint is taken off of the shuttle with his escorts, the Captain of the vessel introduces herself, Captain Yeats Fairchild. Flint smiles, as he watches her expectation, and nods.
“Yes, I’ve heard of you, Captain. You are a pirate hunter, and I recall you’ve crossed my trail a few times in the past.” He sees a flicker of pride that he remembers her and knows her by reputation, he knows she is going to be trouble.
She looks Flint up and down, and inquires, “You aren’t going to try and make life difficult over here, are you Captain?” Flint smiles, surprised she is willing to refer to him honorifically.
Flint counters, “If you can promise me that my reward for good behavior would mean that my men and I aren't all but guaranteed a death sentence, then certainly I would give my word to abide civilly in any cell you put me in. Unfortunately, I don’t believe there has been any recent change in Federation Extradition Policy, hmm?”
The group is walking down a hall and entering into a brig, far from the internal workings of the escort ship. Captain Fairchild chides, “You know there are no guarantees in your line of work, and I especially can’t offer you anything close to that, and be able to back it up. I can say I’ll make your stay comfortable, and I want to assign a battery of psych tests for you. I daresay, Captain Flint, I am a big fan of your efforts, if not your methods, and I want to give you every opportunity to have a fair trial when we get to Earth.”
Flint’s eyes take in every detail, every aspect of the brig as they pass by a guard’s station and into a long hall. As they pass an array of active energy barriers blocking empty cells, Flint eyes up the weight of his pair of guards and the captain. The Captain stops at a cell, and announces on her communicator, “Deactivate cell 14 for prisoner transfer, prepare to re-energize scramblers and communications block-out systems after the motion sensors have a lock on our new guest.”
The moment Captain Fairchild releases her hand from the communicator, Flint throws all of his weight into the guard on his left, knocking him into the still active field on the cell that would be next door to his. As the Guard convulses, Flint leaps up and slams his knee into the shoulder of the remaining guard, spinning him as he fumbles to draw his phaser. Flint hits the ground hard, and spins his feet to trip Captain Fairchild into the security cell intended for him. Flint arches his back upward, and draws his arms downward, and under his body to bring his cuffed hands in front of him. Flint drives his mass in a whip lashing lunge that springs him back to his feet from his prone position, and kicks the phaser out of the second guards hands. He drops down, landing his knee on the second guards throat and chokes him into unconsciousness as Captain Fairchild shouts and paces, trapped in the very cell intended for Flint.
Flint pulls the keys off of the first guard’s unconscious form, and removes his binders, he tilts his head and a salute to the Captain’s cell, “Sorry, Captain, but like I said, I can’t promise not to misbehave in light of the stakes at hand.” Flint drops the binders on the ground, and retrieves the first guard’s phaser pistol, now wielding two. Flint sighs, “I’ll try not to hurt any of your crew more than I need to, that I promise, Captain.”
Flint heads down the hallway, and finds the guard speaking on his communicator on the wall back to the bridge, “Bridge, this is Ensign-” Flint cuts the Ensign off with a short range, low level stun blast to the small of his back, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Flint shoots the comm unit as well, shorting out the circuits. He sets his right-hand phaser down, and holds his left phaser up to cover the door. His Saurian eyes play over the screen, showing him the Captain jumping up and down to wave for attention to the security camera in the cell.
Flint keys up manual entry, and keys in the message, “Bridge, Ensign (Flint glances at the Ensigns badge) Laramy, had an overload in system, lost vocal communications, and intercom use. Captain Fairchild trying to help me fix it before returning to post and calling in maintenance.” Flint waits, and then sees the text reply on the monitor. Flint smiles, and moves swiftly towards the door, grabbing up the second pistol.
In the hallway, a security team is waiting at the end of each way of the hallway, and Flint frowns. A security officer steps forward, smiling, “Hello, Flint. I’m Jack Tiller, your worst nightmare. The Captain thought you may try something, so she set this up, drop the weapons or we drop you.” Flint sighs, and allows his captured weapons to drop. In moments he is growing intimately more familiar with the patterns on the carpeted floor in the hallway as they apply new binders to his wrists.
They haul him unceremoniously into the brig, release the Captain, and hurl him unceremoniously on the floor. Jack gives Flint a couple of kicks while he’s on the ground, and stomps out of the cell, raising the energy field. He thumbs to Flint on the ground as the two injured security guards are brought up and around from the ground, “That’s how you handle scum like that.”
Captain Fairchild rubs her arm and steps up to the shield, “I trust you've learned something from this encounter?”
Flint smiles thinly, “I knew you were going to be trouble, Captain Fairchild, the moment I saw your ship outside of the shuttle bay I was in.” He shakes his head, and sighs, “Star fleet needs more officers like you, that would put a lot of people like me out of business, and we’d have to become legitimate to make our money.” Flint shakes his head, “Bravo, I did, indeed, underestimate you.”
Captain Fairchild grimaces, and nods, “Well, I was hoping you would have learned the futility of trying to escape me while on my watch, I won’t underestimate you, because I am aware of most of the tricks you might try and pull.”
Flint spends a few hours in holding, he kneels in the middle of his cell, focusing and meditating, eyes closed, nothing for company save the constant hum of the security field of the cell. His eyes open as he feels boots approaching through the deck plates, and his eyes move to the field and sees Jack Tiller, leading 5 soldiers wearing crowd control gear. Jack sneers, “Try something, I dare you.”
Flint slowly raises to his feet, and replies, “I take it that you are my honor guard to bring me to the psychological evaluations the Captain spoke of?” Jack calls into his comm unit, and the security field drops. Flint is flanked by 3 guards on a side, and escorted down a hall at a brisk pace. They set him into a heavy metal chair, and cuff his hands through both of its arms, each hand in a separate end of the Tritanium Manacles.
Flint smiles, raising his hand up slightly under the big metal-mesh lines that connect the cuffs under the arms of the chair to one another. “Model Z-S3′s eh? The Captain didn’t have to, these are very expensive.”
Jack Tiller leans forward, hands on the desk, his face close to Flints, “You showed some sort of aptitude at getting out of the standard binders, so I figured we could up the ante on your incarceration. This here, this is all extra garbage duty as far as I am concerned. Try something on me and my men, and we’ll go round and round. They’ll need to do dental analysis to find out that you are who you claim to be. You think you’re bad ass, you think you are so tough? I’ll make the feeling you got with those scars a fond memory.”
Flint smiles, “You can learn a great deal about people, from the way the treat other people that they are not required to treat well, Jack. As for the pain of the scars I wear across my face, trust me, when I tell you, nothing you can do, could possibly write itself more clearly in my mind. I would further venture that anything you had to say, couldn't possibly interest me more than a conversation with the shield in my cell would yield.”
The Psychologist walks into the room, looking between the guards behind Flint, and the one at her side of the table, and Jack reaching down to extra-tighten the manacles on Flint’s wrists. “Excuse me, trooper? Is that really necessary? All of these soldiers, and those cuffs are now clearly cutting off the circulation to that man’s hands.”
Jack turns on the psychologist, and snarls, “You are the only optional thing in this room, Doc. Do what you came to do, and we’ll get this trash back to where it belongs.” The Psychologist, perturbed, frowns and adjusts her glasses and looks down at Flint.
She takes her seat opposite of Flint at the metal table, and takes out some data pads that she begins feeding into the smart table. “I normally start off by asking questions about your current state, and how you are feeling, but I can see that might not be the best place to start this off with.”
Flint looks down at his hands, and smiles, looking up at the Doctor with his Saurian eyes, “Don’t worry Doctor, just do your job to the best of your ability. Their actions do not reflect on you. Please, continue with this battery of tests, so that they can return me to solitary confinement. No offense to you, but I somewhat prefer the company.”
The psychologist blinks, and sees Flint raise his eyebrows with a chuckle, and she glances to Jack, red in the face and angry. Jack glowers low, “Watch it, scum.” The psychologist blinks a moment, stifles a laugh, and finishes straightening out her things.
“My name is Moira Benner, Doctor Moira Benner, I’m going to start with image association….” She shows a series of images on her holoplate built into the table to show Flint, and he answers with swift efficiency to every one of them. She asks a variety of questions from various fields, and applies various forms of verbal examination. She continues until she has exhausted her series, and adjusts her glasses again. She keys in a few codes, and the table top in front of Flint lights up, showing the first page of an Intelligence Quotient Test.
“This part of the test requires the entry of answers on your part, I’m not allowed to hand you a writing implement that is sharp, so you’ll have to make do with this plastic stylus.” She draws out the thin 3 inch long piece of plastic, and begins to pass it along the table. Jack leaps forward, swatting her hand aside, sending the stylus flying.
“The prisoner will not receive ANYTHING from you!” Jack snarls more than speaks his words, and at the same time, Flints entire body tenses forward and has his right hand up on the counter, and his left hand down to allow more slack on the mesh wire.
“Jack, you can be as bad as you like to the prisoner, but I’m telling you, just this once, to lay off the staff. You have no quarrel with her, and I won’t tolerate that behavior.” The guards behind Flint unclasp their holsters on their phaser pistols, and get a little closer to the back of his chair.
Jack stares at Flint, uncomprehending fury scrolling across his countenance, he clenches and unclenches his fists, and he pronounces every word, very slowly, “You … won’t … tolerate?” Jack reaches out to Doctor Benner, and grasps her by the arm, hauling her out of her chair unceremoniously, “This interview is over, I wan-”
Flint’s right hand smacks the edge of the table, and the manacle pops open. Flint swings his left hand around, and uses the open manacle as a flail into Jack’s face. In the same instant, he jumps up, and sets his feet onto the chair, and springs straight, collapsing the heavy object onto the guards behind him. Jack spits blood, trying to recover, and Flint snakes the manacle under the table’s thick leg, and slaps the open manacle closed onto Jack’s upper arm.
Flint rolls off the table at speed, swinging all of his strength into a rounding kick that drops the guard who was pointing his phaser at Flint to drop like a sack of potatoes while Flint’s weight drags Jack down and into the top of the table so hard that it leaves a tooth stuck in its metal surface, drawn right out of Jack’s skull. Flint looks up from the floor, watching the last two guards launching forward, one with gun out, and the other struggling to free it from his holster with the emergency clip still on it. Flint tightens his cuff, and then smacks it onto the table leg, causing it to open.
Flint rolls through the legs of the guard with gun out, causing him to fire wild, and the last guard on his feet blanches as Flint’s entire weight drags them both backward, as they are falling backward, Flint releases the safety on the phaser, and shoots it into the guards own leg. As they both hit the ground, he uses the phaser, still in the holster to let a round into each of the guards in the room. Flint sighs.
Flint walks around the table, stepping over every one of the unconscious forms to stand next to the crouching, and terrified doctor. He leans down to help her to her feet, and helps her into her chair, he assists her in moving it forward slightly, and sets her data chips back up on the side of the table. He picks up the plastic stylus, and sets it on his side of the table. He looks to the doctor, “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He walks towards the door, grabbing jack by the arm, and dragging him to the door, and using his palm print to open the door. Flint leans out, and sees the dozen and a half barrels of high power phaser rifles pointed at him, “Just wanted to tell you, in case you didn’t know, that your guys fell down. I’ll be done with my test in a moment, and you can bring me back to my cell, if that’s alright.”
The guns don’t waiver as he walks back into the room, and returns to his seat, and asks, “If this is a timed test, could I be credited the 180 seconds it took me to fix that?” Doctor Benner blinks, still breathing heavily, and still trying to suppress shock. Flint finishes his last test, and they bring him back to his cell, with the largest armed escort ever to grace the vessel.
Captain Fairchild stands outside of Flints brig, a full squad of 8 commandos in full battle regalia at her side. “Flint, you've left me no choice here.” She fiddles with a harness in her hands, scowling at it, “You know what this is?”
Flint raises an eyebrow, “This must be serious, no more honorific for me, is it? That’s a tear harness, like the ones they developed to hold changelings.” The stoic guards all have stony stairs on as they watch him, and Flint can tell from their body language that they are no strangers to armed engagement.
Captain Fairchild nods, “Yes, as I understand it, these are very uncomfortable to standard humanoids. Also, we’ve decided that we are going to have to use a sedative on you.”
Flint laughs, “Isn’t that a violation of the Khitomer accords?”
Captain Fairchild smiles sadly, and replies, “If you represented a sovereign power, then yes. As it stands, your last known residency was with a Star fleet world, and as such, you are categorized as a criminal. A very dangerous criminal, I’ve been hitting the books to make sure of its legality, and under extreme circumstances, this has been the case.”
Flint remains in his kneeling, meditative pose, watching them. “I see. So, you are going to put that harness on me, and I’ll ride the forever trip into the hands of your superiors in the Regulus Sector Block?” Captain Fairchild nods, and motions to her guards to be ready.
“That’s right, Flint, don’t make us stun you to do it, because we will if we have to.” Captain Fairchild takes a breath, and continues, “So Flint, I want you to get up, and face the opposite wall, and place your hands on it.” Flint nods, and complies, moving as instructed. He rests with his hands on the far wall, waiting, his eyes shifting nervously as soon as he turned around, trying desperately to calculate, to think.
He hears the call from Fairchild that drops the shield, and he hears the booted feet enter the chamber, and can all but sense the approach of the harness coming to him. Flint ducks low, and rolls left, he hears two weapons discharge, and he grapples with a guard, pulling 3 pins out of stun grenades on a satchel from the guard’s chest. Flint rolls with the guard, holding the guard’s mass above him, and towards the rest of the room.
The other guards shout incoherently, and the grenades detonate, flinging everyone around the close-quarters room. Flint stumbles to his feet, smiling despite the high pitched ringing in his ears. He grasps a rifle, and stumbles into the hallway, shaking his head. He lurches out into the hall, and fires twice with wide beam stun to drop 6 guards rushing towards the commotion he left behind. Flint drops to a knee by the door, panting, shaking his head, and gets up.
Flint takes 3 steps out of the door, and is body tackled with so much force that he leaves his left boot on the deck where he had just set his foot. Jack Tiller pounds Flint into the ground, and buffets Flint with extreme prejudice. Flint manages to flip the pair over, and jam his rifle stock with enough force to cause internal damage to Jack’s kidney. Flint strikes again and again, until another group of soldiers manage to drag him to the ground and beat him into a dark oblivion.
&&&&&&
Flint’s mind is clearing, alright, that’s what lead up to this. I am thinking coherently, so they must have given me the counteractive to whatever sedatives they used. Flint’s eyes focus on the 8 security men, wearing riot gear around the room, he recognizes the bandages and tooth-regrowing signs of one of them, the name comes back to him, Jack Tiller. Flint focuses in on what they are saying to the Admiral, and what he is saying to them.
“With all due respect, Admiral, we are not leaving him without a military escort, and if you want it any other way, I need that order in writing.” Jack’s firm voice has a funny, semi-audible whistle to it as air escapes the budding new tooth he has growing in his jaw.
The Admiral frowns, “I’ll sign the order now, soldier, and you should mind your tone with your superior officers.”
Jack Tiller double checks his order, still shaking his head in disbelief, “Sir, though it is not my place, I feel you are making a mistake, this is a very dangerous individual, and I want to make sure you are aware of that.”
The Admiral replies coldly, “You are right, Sargent Tiller.” Jack raises his eyebrows as he gathers up his men to leave. “It is not your place. Dismissed.”
The room is cleared, and Flint comes fully aware, imagining meat cooking as a synonym for the feelings his body is giving him under the harness. Admiral Quinn looks up from the various reports on his desk, looking at Flint with a critical eye. “I’ve been reviewing your case, and I would like to have a dialogue with you. In reviewing your files, I see you have mentioned a few times, that you would be amicable to negotiations for good conduct if you could be reassured about not being extradited?”
Flint smiles weekly, the sheen of sweat on his face visible, “I won’t deal for the freedom of my remaining men.”
Admiral Quinn raises his hand, “I will be offering you a deal, Flint, a second chance of sorts. Even if you don’t like what I have to say, the offer of no extradition will still be up for discussion, if not for you, then at least for your captured crew.”
Flint sits forward, nodding, “… That, … that I find acceptable, sir… If I don’t like what you have to say, I’ll voluntarily get back into this thing … if you are willing to help keep my crew out of Klingon hands..” Flint gasps involuntarily, trying to move at all in the harness covering his form with electric agony.
The Admiral presses a few buttons on the desk in front of him, and the Electric Harness connecting Flint’s wrists, waist, and ankles falls away from him. Flint takes a shuddering breath, leaning back in his chair, just trying to breath. He leans forward, setting his hands on his face while he tries to catch his breath.
The Admiral slides a glass of tall water towards Flint, and Flint nods his thanks to him, and grabs the glass to guzzle it swiftly, draining its contents in swift order. Rivulets of water run down his neck and chin, making his outfit darken with moisture. He breathes heavily for a few more moments, and nods, setting the glass down. “Okay Admiral, what’s our conversation to be?
Admiral Quinn motions his hand over the documents arrayed before him, “I’ve reviewed your history, Flint, and I am impressed by what I am seeing. Through the vagueries of chance, and complications of fate, we have ended up on opposite sides of a legal situation. We share enemies, we share some goals, and I want to align these.”
Flint nods, “What did you have in mind?”
The Admiral explains, “We are at war with the Klingons, and diplomacy with them is shaky at best. The moment word reached them that we had you and some of your men in custody, I’ve received offers.” Admiral Quin thrums his fingers on the desk, shaking his head.
Flint raises an eyebrow, “Word travels fast, I suppose. What sort of offers?”
Admiral Quinn smiles mirthlessly, “I’ve been offered arrangements to capture 3 of the major operatives in the Orion Syndicate. They’ve offered to rescind their territorial claims on several planets that they have taken from the Federation. They have even offered to release several Federation Officers that have been taken captive during this conflict.”
Flint blinks, shaking his head, “That’s a bit hard to swallow, you think they would deliver on all of that?”
Admiral Quinn raises an eyebrow, “Allot of voices in the diplomatic corp want to hand you over, lock, stock, and barrel on the chance that they will. This offer was delivered in a diplomatic package, hand delivered for Star fleet’s highest echelon’s eyes only.”
Flint smiles, “But you have other ideas?”
Admiral Quinn continues, “I’ve been working on pushing a new legislation through, I call it the Second Chance Initiative, and I want to have you in the first batch of people that I put through this program, but there will have to be some changes in your conduct.”
Flint nods, “I would presume as much, what specifically, did you have in mind?”
Admiral Quinn explains, “You would have to go through Star Fleet Academy, you would be on a probationary period until such time as you have shown me that you have fully turned over a new leaf in your life. No more executions without due process. No more scarification. You would need to be an exemplary officer, engendering all of Star fleet’s ideals. If you can’t handle any of these things, no deal.”
Flint smiles, nodding, “I think I can handle all of that, I’ll even swear to it, if you wish. I can furnish you with a list of people from the captured crew that may make good candidates for this program as well. The rest of my men, could they be set to serve out their time in Federation Custody?”
Admiral Quinn nods, “Yes, I would like your word on that. I would appreciate that list. As for the rest of your crew, if you work out in this program, I’ll commute their sentences. Because of your skill set, and your experience, I’ll have you entered into the Academy’s Captaincy Candidate Program. What do you say?”
Flint nods, and answers, “Where do I sign … oh, and one other thing, Do you think that the Orion Syndicate is aware that the Klingons are willing to sell them out?”
Admiral Quinn shakes his head, “I would imagine not, haven’t put a lot of thought towards it, since it was a diplomatic package that was delivered to us, the Federations code of conduct is to maintain the secrecy of the documents involved.”
Flint smiles, and replies, “But if the information was communicated between a few vessels to make sure that everyone on the Federation Council was brought into the loop, perhaps using a Federation Code we know that the Orion’s have already broken, we can damage some of the trust between the Orions and the Klingons.”
Admiral Quinn laughs heartily, shaking his head, “I have a feeling I am going to be very glad that we got you back on our side.”
Flint has a glint in his eye, “Sir, in many ways, I never left.”
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
The First Vessel that Flint ever held the helm of, was the Hawthorne's Folly. It was a Constellation Class ship, the first vessel available for captaincy as Flint exited Star Fleet Acadamy. Not many applicants for that ill-fated vessel. It had more bugs and problems than any ship of it's class. Flint sank a great deal of his personal fortunes into making it just Space Worthy. He set his eyes on a class of similar make, but newer build. As he progressed up the ranks, and he had more pull, he brought more of his old compatriots together, and sent his now fiercely loyal crew to their own commands.
His first true command, if you were to ask him, was when he commanded a constellation class vessel, heavily refitted and modified, called the Austria Ascendant. The Class of ship was battle tested, but falling out of favor with the rise of larger, better ships of the line. But that is an advantage of a tried and true battle frame. He could build and upgrade off of a solid base that he knew would take a beating.
He made the start of his career in Starfleet on this ship, and in many ways, to this day, it still serves his will. He has a series of vessels in his wake, all crewed by those fiercely loyal to him. He wouldn't trust his upgraded hardware in the hands of anyone else.
Second Command was a constitution class vessel called the "Emerald River."
Third Command was a Soverign Class vessel called "Tai Konderoga."
His fourth command, and his current vessel is a massive vessel called "The Hyborian Dream"A Star Cruiser" Heavily Modified, with some serious firepower.
Last edited by Magashi on 2015-05-14 01:20pm, edited 1 time in total.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
She was down on her luck when Flint came across her back in Flint's pirating days. She was playing the role of an information Shadow Broker, but was being set up. Flint told her she was better than that, and encouraged her to find a safer line of work.
She tried her hand at running trade routes, and paid her way through Star Fleet's outreach educational program. Her marks were good enough, that she was allowed to attend Star Fleet Academy. She came across Flint while he was recruiting his Rogues Gallery, and she told him that he should sign her up, because someone has to keep them honest.
Flint discharged a member of his crew, granting them their own command with his blessing. They praise his name, and claim that he taught them everything that they know.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
Sally used to run guns with Flint when he was formerly on the other side of the law. They had spent some time with one another, and he had saved her from a number of bad spots. They originally met in a fire fight with Orion Slavers, from which Flint liberated Sally.
He taught her a great deal in their time together, and she went into business herself as an ally to Flint. Unfortunately, she was scooped up in a Federation raid on a merchant ship moving weapons to various fringe groups on both sides of the Neutral Zone.
Flint used pull with Starfleet to get her a second chance, as he had been granted, to join starfleet and become an officer. She grabbed at the opportunity like a life preserver, absolutely uninterested in being extradited to the Klingon Justice System, and subsequently being sent to Uru Pentha with a minimum of court time.
As soon as room freed up under Flint's command and he moved Commander Lynette onto her own command, he brought Sally under his banner. Lynette, formerly Flint's S6 officer, now runs his original ship, The Hawthorne's Fall, and speaks well of her experience with the strange and enigmatic Vice Admiral Flint, Gentleman Adventurer.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
Angie used to be in a task force from Bajor that would intercept pirates and smugglers. She was very successful, but she had a string of bad luck, and the Marquis claimed the life of her Commanding Officer, and many of her force. She was in a bad sort of way at that point in her career, and that is where she met Flint; on the run from political dissidents, and targets of opportunity for the very pirates she sought.
Flint found her plight to be noteworthy, but was about to resign her and the remains of her crew to her fate. She told him that he was no better than the slaver scum that was hunting her remaining crew in that sector. Flint then took an interest, and his forces annihilated the Pirates in that area with extreme prejudice. She liked Flint and his code of conduct.
After they parted ways, Angie joined on with Star Fleet, and found herself a victim of her moods and Bajoran hot blooded back ground. Often passed over for promotion because she doesn't play well with others. She heard in passing that Flint had been picked up in a raid, and given a second chance by being impressed into Star Fleet. She made arrangements for their paths to cross, and Flint immediately grabbed her up for his crew.
Angie has been Flint's right hand since his first day on the job with Star Fleet. She knows his ways, and is comfortable under his command. She has been instrumental in bringing the rest of his crew into line and whipping them all into shape. Flint gives Angie a great deal of authority on his behalf, ensuring that even while he is not around, the ships compliment will follow his stringent rules of conduct.
After having a commanding officer that allowed her best foot to go forward, she has been approached numerous times for promotion, offered a few ships that could have been her own. She has declined her own command, preferring to work under Flint. Without her at his side, Flint's meteoric rise to Vice Admiral may not have been possible.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
Kelly used to run drugs when she was a member of the Orion Syndicate. She crossed paths with Flint years ago, and he had her and her staff against a wall, before a firing squad. He gave them an option, stop drug dealing, or be shot on the spot. He gave them this one golden opportunity. He told them this is strike one, strike two would be the same choice, but he'd leave them a mark to remind them.
Kelly, unfortunately, didn't heed the warning, and had her beautiful features marred by Flint and his crew after they got busted a second time. She took up Flints crusade in his absence, inspired by his passion to eliminate the drug trade. She's never loved anyone in her life, but herself, yet Flint touched something in her after that second raid that stopped her forces, and made her capitulate to his will.
Kelly heard about Flints capture, and conversion to Star Fleet, and dropped everything she was doing to join up herself. She has made it her desperate mission to follow Flint into Star Fleet, and up the chain of command. She had flooded Flints mail with requests to transfer to his crew. She had geared her entire career in Starfleet to follow Flint, the only man in the Universe to have imposed his will on her.
Flint ran out of excuses to say no to such an outstanding officer, and had need of a replacement on his ship after the Ferenghi Hrem, was called back to Ferengar to take over his family business after his brothers had fallen prey to Klingons. Hrem regretted needing to leave Flint's side, but told him to look him up should he ever be in that part of the galaxy.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
Raised by Romulans, in Federation Space, she always assumed she was destined for great things. She knew she was different. It wasn't until her coming of age ceremony that she was told by her adoptive parents, that her biological parents had died in a pirate raid, and that her adoptive parents did the best that they could, but that her needs could not be fulfilled by them.
She left to join her people, but found the Bolian culture too drastically different from what she had ever known. She signed on with Star Fleet, and has had a meteoric rise ever since. She rose through the ranks at Star Fleet, fulfilling her dreams, and realizing her childhood knowledge that she was destined for something great.
She met Flint at the Club on Earth Space Dock, and he discharged one of his less-used crew members to make room on his roster. He had said, "I must have your skills for my mission." She accepted his offer on his ship, and she has never looked back, or regretted it. Life, is a very interesting thing on the Hyborean Dream.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
The man, the myth, the legend. A Saurian by birth. He may no longer be a pirate, but he maintains his old contacts and connections. All of his assets that starfleet could reach on his arrest were siezed, but it was barely the tip of the iceburg for his resources. He has used his contacts and resources to make the best of his posting in Star Fleet. Often, it has facilitated his success over people with a similar skill set. Better tools, more options, and a "friend" in every port.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
"On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!" ~ Prince Vigo the Carpathian. Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.
